


Once More With Feeling

by MarvelousMenagerie (HiddenOne)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Reconciliation, Team Cap Critical, sad Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 21:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenOne/pseuds/MarvelousMenagerie
Summary: Tearing it all down and starting over from scratch is not, admittedly, the healthiest coping mechanism, but that’s all Tony knows how to do at this point.After Siberia, he starts with the arm.By the time Thanos attacks, he ends with a dream.





	Once More With Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mitochondrials](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/gifts).



> Birthday gift!! Angst with a happy ending, featuring sad Steve. Happy birthday Alistares-13!!

 

It takes weeks for Tony to recover from Siberia.

Or ‘recover’ might not be the right choice, but some word that describes a modicum of forward progression after experiencing emotionally intense moments. Recover sounds better, and nicer, than what it really is at this point, so Tony uses that. It takes a few weeks for Tony to recover enough to look at his _trophy_.

The arm.

(the shield is still buried under a pile of stuff, not to be seen, not to be looked at)

The arm. Tony has seen his own armor in enough assembled pieces to not see the detached limb as grotesque - except this had been His arm, not just a covering, not just armor, but His _actual arm_ \- but the open connections, the dents in the plating, the lackluster sheen hit him hard anyway.

The arm.

Tony takes a sledgehammer to what’s left.

He doesn’t make much of a dent at first. It took a fully charged repulsor beam to cut through it, and a human-swung sledgehammer doesn’t come close to matching that force. All the better - Tony gets several lengthy sessions where he slams the sledgehammer down in anger, in bitterness, in grief. The sweat that drips from his face disguises the tears, and his left hand aches and trembles afterwards in its own kind of long-lasting penance when Tony has to finally walk away.

He doesn’t put on the armor or even a gauntlet. Too quick. This type of retribution takes time - weeks more. As the arm begins to fold, finally, Tony sees the face of Hydra more often than the Winter Soldier when he takes a swing. Progress, recovery...whatever.

Tony realizes he’s done when he has no more rage, no more guilt, no more resentment, no more grief to power his swings. He’s empty. He didn’t know that was possible. The arm still maintains some definition; a sledgehammer was never going to win that battle. He gives himself one last session, and then puts on the armor to punch the remains of the Fist of Hydra into scrap metal.

Then Tony takes off the armor and starts building a new arm.

Tony took his retribution, or as much as he’ll ever get, and now it’s his turn. As close as he can come to forgiveness: an exchange - an arm for an arm - and it’s not going to make it okay but maybe it will be okay _enough_ ~~that Tony can fix this, fix everything, and finally move forward~~.

Whatever intergalactic event headed Earth’s way will need a response from the Avengers. Enemies don’t wait for groups to reconcile, for their opponents to form battle plans and strategies, before they attack. Once it begins, once it happens, they won’t have anymore _time_.

Tony has to fix this now so they can prepare, so they can be ready, when the next threat happens.

There is no longer an ‘if.’ There is only a ‘when.’ There is nothing but this, only the next mission (the next threat). It rings familiar, back to when he first became Iron Man, and he had been so naive to expect to be able to prevent this escalation with the Ultron project.

Earth needs to be prepared, and so Earth needs the Avengers.

In his struggle to fix, to repair, to unite, Tony shatters the remaining romantic tendrils of his relationship with Pepper. She tells him not to fix it.

He loses Pepper. He does gain his old teammates back.

Tony also gains Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, whatever he wants to be called now.

 

 

“Is it safe?” Steve asks when Shuri is done presenting the technology.

Shuri gives Tony hope for the future. She’s a kid with intelligence, vision, _wisdom_ passed down from a family that actually has some beyond how to run a good weapons company. Shuri is brilliant, and it takes her less than a month to take Tony’s B.A.R.F. technology and recraft it into a tool that will remove the Hydra programming from Barnes’ brain.

“No,” Shuri replies, honest but firm, “but it is as safe as we can make it.”

Steve glances at Tony, but Tony ignores him to focus on the holographic projection of Barnes’ brain. Shuri may have transformed his tech, but the foundation is still Tony’s. Between Sibera then and the Accords now, Tony is sick enough of secrets and manipulations to not bother to hide his own involvement. Tony wants Barnes to be able to make an informed choice about the solution presented to him, to choose to trust something that originally came from Tony or to not. Tony wouldn’t blame Barnes for refusing on Tony’s involvement alone, though even if Tony tried to slip something malicious into the program Shuri would catch it.

Barnes stares at the table. He had been freshly thawed for the presentation (though Tony had not been around for the de-icing, out of courtesy).

“It can’t make it worse, can it?” Barnes asks, voice rough.

“It’s possible,” Shuri acknowledges with a frown.

“There are only so many tests we can run,” Tony says. It’s the first that he’s spoken, letting Shuri lead the presentation of what is mostly her tech, at this point. She did great, _too_ great. It sounds easy, what they’ve done together, and Tony has the experience to know it can lead to too high of expectations.  “You’re a special snowflake, sample size of one,” he continues, managing to look Barnes in the eye. His heart races, but he remains steady, composed. He had made sure he was ready for this confrontation. “If we want to talk worst case scenarios, the chances of you dying are higher than the possibility of increasing Hydra’s hold on your brain.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Steve bites out.

Tony doesn’t look away from Barnes and tries to hold onto his composure. “There will always be a risk.”

Barnes looks at the projection of his brain, then at Shuri, then back at Tony. He nods.

“I’ll do it.”

Steve winces. “Buck… are you sure? We could wait.”

Steve turns to Tony, and Tony looks at Steve’s ear rather than making direct eye contact.

“Tell me that if you really tried, for another month or whatever, that you couldn’t improve this even more. That you couldn’t increase the chances of success, even by a percent.”

Tony swallows the vitriol he wants to spew. _If he really tried_?  What did Rogers think Tony was doing, if not trying with everything he had left?

Before Tony can formulate a polite enough response, T’challa interjects. “No one can see the future. Perhaps a breakthrough would happen, but perhaps not. Define the odds that you are willing to accept, Captain Rogers, and my sister will tell you if it is possible.”

Diplomatic. Smart. Tony has hope for the next generation, that they will make better choices than he did.

Steve doesn’t answer except to look back at Tony. His face is pinched, pained. Does he think, even now, that Tony would use this as an opportunity to hurt Barnes? To convince Barnes to undergo a risky procedure?

“It’s my brain,” Barnes says. Tony can hear the exhaustion in his tone. “I - I don’t want to risk waiting.”

Steve reaches for him. “Bucky…”

“I’ll do it,” Barnes affirms. “When do we start?”

Steve sighs. “It’s your choice.”

Tony catches Barnes’ gaze again, and Tony is the one who looks away. Death isn’t the worst outcome, and Barnes knows it all too well.

 

 

So ~~Tony~~ Shuri brings back Bucky Barnes, and Tony brings back the whole gang.

 

 

The shield still remains buried under a pile of stuff.

 

 

The Accords are still being adjusted - that three day deadline so long, long passed that it’s almost hysterical to think about - but Tony has almost a whole hand on the wheel now, and Natasha finally rematerialized to help him out. Things are progressing.

With everyone back at the Avengers Compound, it’s almost like Before - except it’s not anything like Before. They can’t be. There are new faces and new dynamics - Steve had called people up, and even Tony had recruited some new faces as a backup just in case - and too much old history.

Many things are similar to Before. There are battle strategies and training regimes to design, simulations to run, weapons and uniforms to manufacture. But now, it feels like work.

It feels like a job, like it should - like it should have Before. This is work, this is his job. There are only so many times Tony can mistake a coworker for a friend or a teammate for… well, more than a teammate. He’s already hit his limit for making that mistake, and if Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey are his only success stories - well, damn, those are _success_ stories.

He doesn’t need more. Rogers doesn’t ask about the shield.

Barnes gets his arm, though. It had been installed in Wakanda, as part of the final test to make sure certain experiences didn’t trigger a backslide. Tony still sneers when he’s alone thinking about the gold detail they added. It looks gorgeous, of course, but still. Now it catches Tony’s eye and he’d rather it faded into the background, damn it all.

 

 

“Boss, Mr. Barnes is wondering if he’s allowed to schedule an appointment with you.”

Tony pulls back from the gauntlet he’d been tweaking. He stares at it, stares through it, thinking.

“What’s he want?” Tony mumbles as he mentally works through the space requirements for better insulation in front of his palms. Increased power means increased backlash, a lesson he’s constantly relearning.

“Want me to ask?” FRIDAY replies.

Tony blinks and resurfaces. “No, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Tell him when I’m free and let him come down whenever.” The workshop at the Compound had meant to be supplementary to the one in Tower, but even with the armor the commute time seemed like a waste. Pepper is needed in the Tower. He is not. He is needed here (or so he tells himself).

Then Barnes is knocking on the door, because apparently ‘now’ qualified as convenient for all parties. J would’ve known better, except that’s not fair.

Tony waves Barnes in.

The arm is the reason Barnes wanted to schedule an appointment with Tony. It can wait if Tony would rather pass the job off to T’challa or Shuri or to whoever is capable, Barnes offers, but they told him that Tony designed it and made it so Barnes figured…

Tony waves him quiet. “It’s my tech. I can handle it.”

“Sure,” Barnes agrees. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tony mutters as he grabs an array of tools that he might need, waving Barnes into a chair.

“Why not? I’m grateful.”

Tony blinks at Barnes for a moment. “Just...don’t. It’s fine. I’m the one who took your old one, after all. Least I could do.”

“That don’t seem fair. Given how everythin’ went down ‘n all.”

“Really? We’re talking about this?” Tony sighs as he slouches back in his own chair.

Barnes shrugs. “If you want, I don’t know, payback or somethin’. Figured you ought to get it. ‘M not gonna fight. Not anymore. I did it. I did those things.”

Tony stares for a moment. Barnes’ shoulders are slumped, his blue eyes dull. Whatever fight he had in him before is gone - had to have left him when he decided the best choice was to go into the _ice_. God. The emptiness he sees in Barnes is too familiar, resonates too much.

Tony clears his throat, and opens the arm. He starts poking around to pretend to be doing something while FRIDAY finishes her scans. “That deep freeze means you’re too late to that party, Frosty. I took all the retribution I needed out on that octopus trash tech you called an arm,” Tony says, not looking up from the wires. “If you’re looking for an executioner, you won’t find it with me. And this won’t kill you either,” Tony says, knocking on the metal plate. “I didn’t put trackers or tricks in here. You don’t have to trust me, but you can trust my tech.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything else until Tony closes up the arm and declares him tuned up and ready to go. And even then, Barnes only utters a ‘thank you’ before he’s gone.

 

 

It’s not his lookout, is the thing. If Barnes is empty, lost his spark, that’s none of Tony’s business. Even if it had to have been quite a spark if Barnes had successfully been on the run from Rogers for months and then he still fought hard after the whole UN bombing, brought Steve to Siberia, and it wasn’t like he laid down for the count when Tony came after him either. It’s none of Tony’s business.

But now he _knows_.

Barnes fakes it well. Tony knows what that’s about, he’s currently faking it too. Top-notch faker, right here, one of the best. Fake it until you make it, and Tony doesn’t know when the deadline to ‘making it’ is, he feels like he should’ve already hit that now at whatever age he isn’t keeping track of anymore, but here he is. A giant, top-notch faker.

Sure, Rogers needs Barnes put together and not suicidal or matyr-ish or whatever Barnes’ mental health is right now. And if Rogers needs him, then theoretically Tony needs him too, for whatever intergalactic events are coming their way (and there’s always a use for a guy with such beautiful tech for a limb, really).

Still, Tony does nothing.

Not until Barnes steals his food, that is.

“Who drank my shake?” Tony asks, staring at the empty spot in the fridge, more bewildered than angry because no one ate his food. Tony had to literally force it down their throats and he only bothered when they were recovering (or he used to, anyway, Before).

“Oh...shit.”

Tony turns to stare at Barnes, still massively confused. Even the almost-empty shake in Barnes’ hand doesn’t solve the confusion.

“Ah… sorry. I thought it was free game? Didn’ have a name, and it’d been sitting for awhile, and...sorry.”

“No one drinks my stuff,” Tony repeats.

“Tony,” Steve chides. “It was an accident.”

Barnes shuffles closer. “‘M sorry. I won’t do it again. Uh, fries?” Barnes offers, waving the styrofoam container heaped with fries in his other hand at Tony. One half contained fries, the other had three cheeseburgers stacked together.

Tony reaches out and takes a handful of fries. He shoves them in his mouth - still warm, slightly soggy, heavy on the salt. Not a bad exchange. He reaches for another handful.

“I’m offended you decided to eat cheeseburgers and fries after downing my nutritious shake packed with nutrients and… stuff,” Tony spits out around his mouthful of fries.

Seriously, not even super soldier metabolism will get Steve to drink his shakes unless there is literally no other option. Given Tony’s priority to make food available at all times (sue him, he likes his snacks) that has yet to happen. Tony suspects that his stop-gap measure for palladium poisoning might have altered his taste buds a little, but at least fries (and doughnuts, and cheeseburgers) are still delicious.

He had wanted that shake though…

“Want one?” Barnes offers, now making to hand over a cheeseburger.

“Buck, you don’t have to -” Steve starts, but Tony is already waving Barnes at the counter.

“Yeah, set it there. You didn’t do anything horrendous to it, did you? Kept it classic, right? No crazy sauces or slaw or fish or something…?”

“Traditional cheeseburger. Just like they used to have ‘em in the 40s,” Barnes confirms as he sets one of his three cheeseburgers on the counter.

Steve doesn’t need to glare at Tony like that, it’s Barnes’ cheeseburger to decide what to deal with. Besides, now Barnes doesn’t have to feel guilty because an equivalent exchange as been made! Also: cheeseburger.

“Really? Figured they would’ve skimped on the cheese and the toppings during the Depression. And then wouldn’t the cows have been super skinny? Less fat, which means not quite the correct, delicious grease to meat ratio, and -”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, interrupting. He has four cheeseburgers in his container, so he can go ahead and split that last one with Barnes if he’s still so concerned.

Barnes’ lips quirk, though. It’s stupid and small and nothing like the fiery, drive to life that would’ve been in Barnes before (Before?). Still, it’s something. And Tony is glad that someone can have a moment of happiness and really, if Barnes is capable of that, after everything, then Tony should be able to find some sort as well, shouldn’t he?

So when Barnes tips his head toward the living room in question, Tony nods. He grabs a plate for his burger, a water since he no longer as his shake, and steals some more of Barnes’ fries before he takes a seat on the other side of the room.

A baseball game - not even the Dodgers or the Yankees - is on screen, but Tony only fakes (he’s good at that) attention as he watches Rogers and Barnes. When either of them glance over at him, Tony is watching the screen. When he finishes his food, Tony leaves the room with only a nod of recognition from the supersoldiers.

Barnes has Rogers. Rogers has Barnes. That’s like, their whole thing.

And.

But.

...But.

It’s an accident. He’d upgraded the blender, or forgot how much he could fit in it, the point being that Tony makes a _lot_ extra of his next shake batch. He’d shoved a bunch of kale into it, too, which isn’t his favorite, but it gets a really satisfying green color so…

He writes his name on two of the extras that he sticks in the fridge. One, he leaves blank. Whatever, there’s no reason, he shouldn’t have to leave his name on his food anyway. Everyone should just know it was _his_ , and now he’s too busy being distracted by schematics. There is no reason to his madness.

The next day when he finds the shake gone, he smirks. “FRIDAY, tell Barnes I want doughnuts as payment.”

Three hours later, FRIDAY tells him there’s a box of doughnuts in front of the workshop door with his name on them. There’s eleven in the box, one short of a dozen, and Tony laughs.

 

 

It’s stupid. Exchanging food with a guy, a teammate, a coworker, isn’t really anything. It’s not. But Tony gets the better end of the deal because fries and doughnuts and blueberries or nuts or whatever Barnes gets him is much better than the residual shakes that Tony _totally doesn’t_ leave for Barnes.

It’s stupid. He knows it. He does.

It’s just… every interaction with his previous teammates is hard. Every word, every gesture, every step has to be carefully analyzed (and deliberately not careful when executed) so that the polite, civil team they’ve managed to form stays that way. Tony doesn’t want to rehash his or their past decisions - about the Chitauri, about Ultron, about Sokovia, about Germany, about everything because it always ends up being about fucking everything - in screaming arguments anymore because he is tired. He has to save his energy and his arguments for those outside the Compound who want to destroy everything _inside_ (including and sometimes especially Tony).

Interacting with Barnes should be hard.

It’s not.

It’s not a clean slate between them, but there’s no cracked foundation. Everything that happened - from his parents, to the airport, to Siberia - isn’t forgotten, but they weren’t ~~friends~~ teammates when it all went down. Tony is good at faking, and he is good at building.

He can fix cracked foundations - even ones dealing with people, he thinks - but that is more effort than he can dredge up the energy for. Even Steve’s long glances, in the conference room or across the kitchen or beside him on the training round, aren’t enough to prod Tony into action.

He is tired.

Building something on a clear ground (except for a few potholes that Tony knows to avoid) is much easier. Especially since whatever he is (they are) building doesn’t have to last. It’s nice to just have an easy conversation with someone that isn’t FRIDAY, where Tony doesn’t have to second guess every word out of his mouth or end up back in his room at night wondering if he said the right or wrong thing or if his words were misconstrued entirely or maybe his inflection was wrong or maybe his posture wasn’t quite right or…

Tony is good at faking, but every day is harder. He’s still not making it.

 

 

But now there’s Barnes.

The Spark of Life isn’t quite there yet. The guy’s sense of humor and sass falls too deep on the morose and/or morbid side, and Tony sees Steve wince a little when he catches it.

Tony, on the other hand, laughs. It’s how he still knows something is wrong with himself, too, but it’s nice to be able to have that in common with someone.

Hanging out with Barnes is just...nice. God, Tony is in trouble. He hangs out with Barnes a lot for someone he was mentally smashing with a sledgehammer not even six months ago. With their food exchange now happening in person rather than via random gifts in the kitchen (especially since Peter once intercepted a cheeseburger) and time in the workshop, Tony spends a lot more hours with Barnes off the training ground than any other Avenger.

So far, Barnes is the only one who has braved the workshop. Tony assumes the rest know that they aren’t welcome, but still a section of his heart hurts that they haven’t yet bothered to _try_. But it’s more convenient for Barnes to be in the workshop when his arm needs a tune up - and then there’s upgrades and feedback with that, and Tony can take notes and brainstorm ideas here than anywhere else in the Compound. Then Barnes has weapons and a uniform, all of which need feedback and upgrades and fittings. They need to talk about how to handle the public relation spin of the Winter Soldier, and how to navigate the politics of the Winter Soldier’s history to the UN committees.

(and thank God Barnes agrees to stay close to the Compound. Tony is learning, he is, because he at least asks this time before instituting a house arrest)

So Tony has to talk to Bucky a lot, about important things, and not just why he hasn’t invented whatever crazy thing from the sci-fi movie Bucky watched last night, or where the best burger is in the state of New York is, or what happened to bananas, or why Tony painted his armor red and gold and didn’t even bother to have a backup stealth suit option.

Tony could talk to Barnes less. That is still an option. The other Avengers have similar issues (uniform, weapons, PR, etc.) but Tony has instituted channels of communication through FRIDAY that let him get the needed information without having to _talk_ to them. It works. It could work for Barnes, but… he doesn’t want to add Barnes to the avoidance list.

He’s weak. He’s lonely. He’s… okay, he’s maybe a little bit liking the semi-friendship with Barnes.

Sue him.

Steve would, probably, if he could, because he keeps looking at the two of them all wounded and hurt whenever Barnes laughs at one of Tony’s toss away comments or vice versa. Tony isn’t petty enough to get a thrill when that happens, no he’s not (he totally is - _sue him_ ).

And, bonus, Barnes has a lot of free time on his hands. He runs drills, he works out, he hangs out with Steve, but he doesn’t sleep much and hasn’t picked up any hobbies besides winning at hide and seek. He has a lot of free time to hang around Tony.

Tony, on the other hand, has a lot to do, too much to do, but apparently one of his things now is to bitch at Barnes about his work. Venting. It’s relaxing. Especially when Tony gets to recount all the stupid stunts that the committee and politicians are trying to pull over on him (Natasha, he’s sure, feels the same way but they hit their communication threshold with just the professional conversations). Barnes likes to know, because the stories are stupid funny, but also to be able to scent which way the wind is blowing.

“Gotta know who’s comin’ for us,” he admits one night. “Know your enemies.”

“Exactly,” Tony agrees, pointing at Barnes as if he professed the ultimate wisdom of life. (Tony might be a bit drunk at this point, but bonus : Barnes likes the taste so Tony doesn’t have to drink alone).

This is Tony’s life now. The Avengers are together, managing to keep one step ahead of the politicians, managing to prepare to defend Earth, managing to stay together as a team. Tony counts Bucky Barnes as one of his friends.

He uses the good feels momentum to finally uncover the shield.

He stares at it.

He breathes in.

He breathes out.

He moves forward.

First he buffs out the claw marks, then he redoes the paint job. The star, the stripes… Steve is still Captain America. Captain America will always be Steve Rogers, at least for Tony. T’challa may have given Steve fancy arm guards and new weapons while in Wakanda, just in case, but the shield is Steve’s.

Tony goes for very little fanfare when he hands it back, though he times it so that they’re alone.

“Tony… thank you,” Steve manages, voice thick. He hefts the shield in his hands, gripping it tight. “I - I am sorry, about -”

“Don’t,” Tony cuts him off. He sighs, releasing the tension that made his voice sharper than he wanted. “I don’t...just...the shield is yours. I shouldn’t have taken it. You’re Cap, you’ve always been Cap. And those things T’challa got you aren’t big enough to protect you from your stupid stunts because you’re used to the shield. So, take it and let’s move on, yeah?”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, and Tony glances away from what he suspects might be tears in Steve’s eyes. “Are we… we’re going to be friends again, right? Futurist that you are…?” he tries to tease.

Tony pulls in a breath and holds it before pushing it out again. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“But you and Bucky…”

Tony cuts him off with a gesture. “Bucky and I weren’t friends before everything happened. Bucky didn’t decide not to tell me my parents were murdered.”

“I couldn’t,” Steve tries to say.

Tony overruns him. “You had options, Steve. I get it, maybe, sometimes, that you couldn’t tell me that Barnes was the one, okay? But you could’ve told me that Hydra killed my parents, you could’ve simply implied it, you could’ve hinted that I should search through Shield’s files myself, you could’ve -” Tony stops, breathing ragged. “You were my friend. You should’ve said something.”

Steve’s shoulders sag, his head hangs. “Tony…”

“Steve, I can’t… I can’t,” Tony admits, defeated. Still, he dredges up the energy to extend hope. “Right now, I can’t.” He’s a futurist. He can see a future where he’s friends with Steve again. Most days he _wants_ to be friends with Steve again, but right now it still hurts. Right now that foundation is still cracked, and the wish for it to be repaired isn’t the same as putting in the effort to repair it.

Steve nods in acceptance. His eyes are still sad, troubled.

Tony’s hand twitches, the thought to reach out aborted before truly begun. He walks away first.

 

 

 

In the end, Tony is proved right. The next threat to qualify for the Avengers is an intergalactic war.

Thanos.

Thor and the ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ herald his arrival, but again Tony is right in that there is little (no) time to prepare. He does, often, wish that he is wrong simply because it would be easier that way.

Thanos is here with an army, and it’s three solid days of fighting simply to stop New York City from hemorrhaging before they get a chance to regroup (it was always going to be New York, Tony had run the math, but he still feels guilty that he didn’t what, close down the city?, before this happened).

The armor is more gray from dirt than red, and Tony does have a backup but he’d rather FRIDAY pilot it to search for more survivors while he sits. He’d sleep, but there was a strategy meeting in twenty minutes after Fury finished his conference call with T’challa. Wakanda’s tech had attracted vistiors as well, but Thor and Hulk had provided any needed backup to T’challa’s Black Panther, Shuri’s tech, and the Dora Milaje.

New York City would take years to recover, and that’s if they manage to win.

Tony isn’t sure of the odds. Too many variables still unknown.

“Tony!”

He turns and breathes a sigh of relief when Steve comes into view. There are cuts all over his uniform, blood on the fabric, but the super soldier seems to be healing and at least he still has a hold of that damn shield.

“Steve,” Tony greets, rising to his feet and giving into the urge to hug Steve. The battle in the air had taken too much of his attention - too few flyers compared to the ground crew - and the last he’d seen of Steve, the man was getting buried under a new wave of the monkeyish lackies Thanos seems to have a million of.

“Glad to see you in one piece.”

“You too,” Tony replies. It’s easier to put a smile on his face, now.

The armor is dented, his body beneath bruised, but Tony is glad for Steve’s touch. There hadn’t been time, before the attack, to mend anymore bridges. Still, Tony thinks he and Steve had always managed to work out their differences better on the battlefield than anywhere else. Maybe their cracked foundation can be filled with what comes out of this forge of battle.

Movement out of the corner of his eye has Tony turning.

The Winter Soldier struts towards them, goggles gone but mask still in place. The dust and debris from fallen buildings still hangs in the air, and Tony’s glad Bucky has some filtration here on the ground level.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes out, releasing his hold on Tony to hug Bucky. “You were supposed to stay behind me.”

Bucky returns the hug, clapping Steve on the back. He uses one hand to release the mask. “I was the whole time, you just couldn’t see me.”

“Right, because that’s why I got jumped on Sixth.”

“Because I was busy cleaning up your mess from Seventh, punk.”

Steve laughs, a touch of hysteria in it, and Tony quickly finds himself joining in. It’s a crazy laugh, battle worn and exhausted with only more fighting to come. How did Tony ever think this was enough? That he could prepare enough? He should’ve done more, he should’ve…

Bucky steps closer. “Hey,” he greets, tugging Tony to him by the collar of the armor.

Tony stops laughing at the determination on Bucky’s face.

Bucky purses his lips. “Look, there wasn’ any time before, and now… it’s not great timing, I know. It’s not a great _idea_ , I know that too. And you can hate me for this later as long as you’re alive to do it.”

Tony can’t follow whatever train Bucky’s thoughts are on, but then Bucky is close, too close, and then Bucky’s lips are on his.

Tony can’t breathe.

Bucky pulls back. “Sorry.” He licks his lips, and Tony watches the motion. “End of the world, kiss your fella kind of moment, only I missed the goddamn timin’ before.”

Tony looks at Steve, to see if someone else understands what the hell is going on. Steve looks stricken, eyes glazed.

“T-take it,” Steve rasps before coughing to clear his throat. “I’ll, I’ll hold off Fury, on that meeting. Take your moments while you got ‘em. Don’t… don’t wait.” He turns to Bucky, a mock scowl on his face. “Ask the guy out for a date Buck. And don’t you dare be late.”

Then he’s gone, and Tony hadn’t heard Peggy ever mention that story in person, but Tony knows it in any case. Howard had been the one callous enough to retell it, to repeat Steve’s last words before the ice.

“Captain’s orders,” Bucky whispers.

Tony grips Bucky’s shirt, holds him fast. “If you die on me, Barnes, I will bring you back and kill you myself. No goddamn heroics.”

“Right back atcha, doll.”

It could be the end of the world. It might be. The math is not in their favor.

“Malibu. I have a place. We’re going there, and I’m banning all forms of clothes, and keeping you hostage for a week, minimum,” Tony promises. Tony dreams.

Bucky grins, bright and sharp and hopeful. “Sounds like the perfect date to me.”

Tony yanks Bucky down for another kiss. If all he gets are these next twenty minutes to his life, then he is going to kiss the hell out of Bucky for all twenty of them.

This, Tony doesn’t have to fake.


End file.
